Page 30 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

TRIPP

I open the curtain hanging over the window and take a step back. My internet search said pale, yellow leaves need more sunlight, but this might be too much. The bottom of the plant nearest to the window glides across my dresser as I move it to the right. That should work.

I cross my arms and spread my legs to inspect the rest of them. Mesa insisted I have these plants in my room, and I thought the idea was pointless at first. But I like them more than I thought I would.

My head turns as my door blows open. Mesa comes trudging in with a huff and a heavy bag on each shoulder. When she left this morning, I tried to act casual. I didn’t want her to go, and I may have pumped my fist in the air when she texted me that she wanted to come over after work today.

“I cannot believe I’m about to ask this ridiculous question.” She laughs. “But why are the guys lifting weights under the shade tree in the front yard?”

I lean toward the window and take a peek, chuckling at the scene. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. Heston is benchpressing in fucking jeans. It’s not a shock to find him, Warren, and Gage working out from time to time out there.

Not me. I’m more of a cardio guy, and my methods of exercise don’t involve being outside in the middle of this damn heat.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But summer’s here, and I’ve seen all of their girls in sundresses. Pretty sure they lift weights so they can fight. They’re idiots.”

“That—sounds about right, actually.” Mesa clutches her stomach and laughs for a good ten seconds. “Blythe and Savannah? Yeah, I’d be chugging protein shakes like they were water. But Heston has a girl?”

I blow out an exasperated breath that puffs my cheeks out. “Loaded question.”

She throws her bags, which might weigh a metric ton, next to my dresser. Her back seems stiff, and she flops down on the long, narrow bench at the end of the bed frame. I wince, knowing the things the old me has done on that bench. It needs to be tossed. Badly.

“Give me the loaded answer, then.”

“Not my story to tell. I don’t really know every detail anyway.”

“You’ve lived with Heston since you were how old?”

“Eighteen.”

“And y’all have matching best friend tattoos?”

I roll my eyes. One of them is misspelled, but it still counts. “Yes.”

“Yet you’re saying you don’t know every detail? Yeah, right.”

“Swear. He doesn’t talk about it. He’s been hung up on the same girl since before Gage and Blythe even got together. Don’t bring it up around him. Trust me.”

She crosses her legs and leans back on her hands while letting out a low and slow whistle. “Do you know her?”

“Yeah,” I answer with a sigh. “She practically lived here at one point in time. Then, poof. One day she just skipped town.”

“Do you think she’ll ever come back?”

I open my mouth to answer her question, but before I do, I remember that Mesa knows her. She’s fucking friends with her. I rub the back of my neck and twist my face.

“Well, I think she already has. It’s, uh—it’s Hattie.”

Mesa shoots up to a full sitting position. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth hangs open. I brace myself with a wince.

“Hattie. Do you mean Hattie Jo? As in, my friend, Hattie Jo?”

I nod reluctantly. “Just a warning—the girls hate her by proxy. Sorry you’re in the middle of it.”

“I mean . . . I get it. I guess,” she says with a frown. “That little hussy. She never said a thing to me about this.”

“That tracks. Heston hasn’t breathed a word about it, either. Bad blood.”

Mesa’s face falls, and her empathetic side takes over. “Poor Hattie.”

“Poor Heston,” I add. “I don’t think he knows she’s back in town.”

Mesa flops to her back, and I move to lie next to her and match her position.

“I wouldn’t fuss over it, Mace,” I say. “We've got enough to worry about already.”

We turn our heads toward each other at the same time. I’d like to hold her hand, but I keep mine folded over my stomach like hers. I don’t know how long we stay like that, but it feels like ten minutes have passed before she speaks up in a soft voice.

“How are you feeling about last night?”

“I see. You just came over here to check on me and make sure I wasn’t sitting in the shower crying.”

She smiles, and I’m reminded of how much of what I say and do around her is just to see her face like this as much as possible.

“Maybe. But we also decided to have a talk over a week ago, and we have yet to address the situation. I came over for that, too,” she says.

I lean up slightly so that I can turn toward her and prop my head up on my elbow. She copies my movements exactly.

With the sun shining through the window behind me, her face glows, and I don’t know how long I’m going to make it without kissing her again.

That thought tells me everything I need to know about what to say next.

I’m not chickening out this time. “I can’t sit in my head with it anymore, and I want to tell you the truth. ”

Her lips part. I swear her body shifts toward me like a magnet. My free hand reaches for her waist, and my thumb rubs a circle on her hip bone just above the low waistline of her denim shorts.

“What truth?” she asks.

“I want things with you that scare me. Things I’ve never wanted before.” I break eye contact to stare at my thumb that dips under the hem of her shirt. “It’s killing me that I’m not sure where your head’s at.”

“Is this about the sex?”

I smirk. “Yeah, babe. I want it bad. I’d fuck you so goo?—”

Mesa leans forward to land a slap on my bicep, but I catch her hand midair and haul her on top of me.

I lean back, and she scowls down at me with her hands braced on my chest. My hands dig into her hips as I pretend I don’t notice her disapproval.

Eventually, I lean back and put my hands behind my head so that I’m not tempted to unbutton her shorts.

“I’m just kidding around,” I admit honestly. “It’s not just about the sex.”

“Okay, then it’s about your hopes and dreams?”

I look her right in the eyes. “My only dream is to not be your friend anymore.”

She lowers her upper body and moves her hands to either side of my head until her mouth hovers over mine. Her thick, red hair cascades around our faces, and I release one hand from behind my head to tuck a strand of it behind her ear.

Instead of waiting for her to respond, I feel the need to plead my case further. “I’m sorry about the way things happened. I mean, I’m fucking glad it happened. The messing around, I mean.”

She doesn’t speak just yet. Just listens. My explanation sounds rushed and jammed together. Rather than take a breath and wait for her to shoot me down, I continue trying to convince her to fully understand me first.

“You don’t have much to learn from a guy like me, and I should’ve known better. I wanted to help you. I did. But I—fuck. I wanted to know what it was like to have you like that more than anything, even if it was only once. That makes me a selfish asshole.”

She sniffs, and I hope it’s to center her thoughts and not because of tears. “I see.”

“I know I set this up all wrong. Don’t think I’m ignoring everything you’ve got going on with your job and all the conversations we’ve had about what you’ve been through in past relationships.

I know those are still more important to you.

But what we have—it’s something special, Mace.

Isn’t it? What if we give this thing a try, huh? What if?—”

“I’m going to stop you right there.”

Her voice is strong and determined, so I close my mouth immediately. My hand drops away from the side of her face as I clench my jaw.

“Just to be clear. Are you saying you don’t want to be friends because we took it too far, crossed a few lines, and that’s not what you signed up for? Or are you saying you don’t want to be friends because you want to . . . what? Date me instead?”

Date her? On the one hand, yes. On the other, it doesn’t seem like those two words accurately represent how I feel about her or what I want to have with her.

And I’ve never considered dating in the traditional sense. I see now why most adults date instead of sleeping around at some point in their lives. If I’d done that, the practice would have helped me with what the hell to say to Mesa at this moment.

Something tells me puffing out my chest and saying, “ You’re mine now, but let’s be chill about it because I don’t know what I’m doing.

Oh, and I’m also going to start fucking you senseless every night,” isn’t exactly eloquent.

Even in my head, it sounds stupid. The way my feelings and words contradict each other would confuse her. Hell, it confuses me, too.

What would Gage or Warren say? They have way more experience in this department than I do. I draw my brows together, trying to channel their thought processes. Every word would sound like a poem coming from them. They’d say something to make her cry happy tears and hold her hands over her heart.

That’s not me. And oddly enough, that realization makes me smile. Because if I were like that, I don’t think Mesa and I would ever have a shot. She’d think that load of bull was corny as hell.

I think she’d rather I keep it simple. Keep it true.

“We said we were friends, but we kiss like we’re not.

It’s torture because there are things I want to do and say that have no business being said or done in a friendship.

You didn’t have to care for me when we first met, and you weren’t trying to hold down a romance.

That means you cared about me on choice alone, didn’t you?

Imagine how that feels, being chosen? It’s the best feeling in the world for me.

Between that and everything else about you, I am fucking wrecked over you, babe.

Do you understand what I’m saying now? I want you. I want to be with you.”